Sober Up
by notallowedtosneeze
Summary: Thomas comes home drunk, no one is happy about this. Some things are said that probably shouldn't be said, at all. Mostly JeffMads, though this has some Lams as well. (College AU)


its been a while since ive written any Hamilton fanfiction so I hope that this isn't that bad? I'm hoping to make about 3 chapters, any comments about how this is would be great

1.

Thomas Jefferson was late. _Very_ late. But he didn't think about it, because he was too drunk to even have a care in the world. He downed another shot of tequila, screwing up his face before slamming the glass cup onto the bar. He laughed obnoxiously loud, yet no one in the club looked over to see his annoying behavior. Everyone was dancing and drinking, without a care in the world. Another song came on, one about losing yourself and everyone you love. He dove back into the throng of dancing people, laughing and hooking his arm around the waist of someone. This is the kind of life he lived for. He danced and drunk the rest of the night away, laughing.

James Madison was good at worrying. It was simply his nature. Even if he knew where Thomas was and what he was doing and that he was going to be home soon, _was he going to be home soon, was he ok…?_ His thoughts doubled back on themself. He doubted himself, constantly. He just couldn't help it.

Madison fiddled with the corner of his book, scanning the same line over and over.

"We do know in part what Mr. Ewell did: he did what any God-fearing, preserving, respectable…"

He sighed after his fifth attempt to read the line, placing a bookmark between the weathered pages of the novel. He placed the book on the side on the bed, right in the spot where Thomas usually slept, talked to him, laughed. Madison rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, then opening them to read the tiny digital clock that rested on a dresser across the room: 2:13.

James sat a little straighter in bed, his stocky frame supported by the mass of pillows behind him. He reached across the bed, straining for his phone on the nightstand. He quickly unlocked it and scrolled to his messaged, clicking on Thomas' name. They read:

 **JEMMY**

 **10:45 PM**

 _Are you coming home soon?_

 **JEMMY**

 **12:32 AM**

 _Tom, are you alright? Did something happen? Please pick up ur phone._

 **JEMMY**

 **1:21 AM**

 _Tom? Seriously are u ok? Im getting worried, plz respond_

 **JEMMY**

 **1:58 AM**

 _plz pick up ur phone_

 **JEMMY  
2:14 AM**

plz, tommy

James stared at the phone for a minute longer, hoping that a message would appear on the screen. Nothing. His mind started to dart to the worst. What if he had gotten kidnapped, or is drunk in an alley somewhere, or _dead_ in an alley somewhere, or…

He dialed his number, holding the phone up to his mouth, barely breathing. No one answered. He sighed, slumping back down, frustrated. Where was he?

Thomas was on his hands and knees on the side of the road, retching everything in his stomach up on to the curb, coughing. His glasses slid down his nose, covered with sweat and foggy. God, this is awful. _I feel awful._ His brain ran slow, addled with the effects of whatever shit he had put into his body that night. He stopped vomiting, rolling back onto his knees, painting. Where even was he? He didn't really know exactly; he did know he finally made it out of the club and was on his way somewhere. His apartment? Yes, that was it.

Thomas wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and fumbled around his jacket pockets for his phone with the other. It took him a few attempts to open it, it password beyond his grasp. He got it open on the fifth try, and looked at the time: 2:35 AM. His gaze flicked over to his messaging app. There were five new texts and 2 calls, all from James. Shit. Shit. Shi-

He peeled himself from the curb, standing up shakily. Jemmy had been trying to contact him all night. Fuck. He stumbled off in a hurry, hoping he was going the right way.

James flicked through his phone, laying on his side, when he heard the door creek open.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ow, fuck."

A loud thud came from the kitchen. James was relieved, and at the very same time, seething with anger. He didn't look up from his phone, waiting for him to come through the door. Thomas stumbled through it, as expected.

My God he was a mess. His white tank top that showed off the curve of his muscles was stained, his jacket rumpled. His face was even more fucked up. His eyes were unfocused and his glasses fogged. He was obviously drunk.

Thomas walked a couple steps through the door and saw James, just sitting there, his face an eerie calm. He froze. Jemmy was _pissed_."Shit. I, I thought you wer-, were gonna be asleep o-or..."

James just kept staring. "Do you know what time it is? Do you know what time I asked you to be home?"

"I know, I kno-"

James cut him off, his face betraying his anger. "Do you? Do you really fucking know what time we agreed on?" He pulled the blanket off of him, shifting his body to sit on the edge of the bed. "We agreed on 10:30, Thomas. Do you know what time it is know? Or are you too drunk to do that?"

Thomas should've been scared. James _never_ gets this angry, but then again Thomas usually is better than this. Much better. Tonight though was just ... different. He needed to blow off some steam; nothing seemed to go. Hamilton showed him up in class. He didn't have money for lunch. He got lost.

But he wasn't scared. He was pissed.

"Yeah, I can read the fucking clock, honey. I know I'm late, what's, what's the big fuckin' deal?"

"The big deal is that I was worried, Thomas!" James stood up. He shouldn't have been an intimidating sight, with nothing on but a pair of sweatpants and only was about 5'3" tall, but he managed. "You didn't text me at all! You always text me where you are! What was so different about tonight?"

Thomas slowly moved toward him, a hand on the wall for support, a snarl on his face. "What if I forgot! God, you always get so fuckin' needy and shit, whats wrong with you? If I was dating someone normal, they wouldn't fuckin' t-text me how I was doing every five fuckin' seconds and just let me live and so-some fun! Why do you have to control me?"

James slunk a bit. "Thomas, I get worried. Everytime, I can't help but think of you, lying dead in a ditch somewhere and I get _scared-_ "

"Oh my _God_ , s-sweetie you are so fuckin' _pathetic_. Sometimes, I w-wish I wasnt fuckin' dating you; it would make my goddamn life so much fuckin' easier! God, I do so much shit for you, like fuckin' helpin' you when you get sick every goddamn week, and doing your homework, and fuckin' looking after you all the goddamn t-time! Just fuckin' leave me alone already!"

" _Fine."_

James' anger became cold and hard. He didn't say a word. James Madison just grabbed a shirt from the floor, his phone and a sweatshirt, and exited the room

"What the fuck are you doing? You fuckin' pussy!" Thomas shouted after him as he walked toward the front door. He stumbled, tripping and falling to the ground with a loud _thud_. Shit. James paused, but he didn't look back at him. He just took his keys, opened to door, and left Thomas on the ground without another word. He was gone.

Thomas just stared at the closed door, disbelief and anger bubbling inside of him.

"Fine! Be that fuckin' way!"

Whatever. _What a fucking pussy, leaving on me? Christ._ He felt a sharp pain in his hand. It was bleeding; he must have cut it at one point. Whatever. He didn't care.

He stood from the ground, cradling his hand, stumbling back to the empty bedroom. He didn't bother to get changed or cleaned up in any way. He simply flopped onto the deserted bed, strained toward the nightstand, hand fumbling to turn off the light, and laid in the darkness, hoping for sleep.

The night air was freezing. James sat on a bench in the park across from their apartment building, bundling himself in his sweatshirt and holding his phone like a beacon of hope. He trembled, half from the cold and half from shock. That was the worst fight they had ever had. Sure, they had had a few before, but none on this level. This was awful. _I feel awful._ He felt a stray tear trace down his cheek.

James wheezed in a breath, shaking, and wondered what to do. Obviously, he couldn't go back to his apartment. Who would be willing to let him stay the night, or maybe even two, who knows, and who the fuck would be awake at this time at night? James groaned as he realized. _Hamilton_. God, he was a little shit sometimes, but him and John would be willing to let him stay. Despite being the boyfriend of his _rival_ , Hamilton still treated him as a friend, or at least with some respect, excluding that time a year ago when he insulted him to his face. He liked Laurens too, though they didn't spend much time together.

Another chilly wind blew through the air. Madison shivered, and opened his phone, dialing Alex's number. A hard, loud voice blasted through the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Alex?"

"Madison, what the fuck? It's three in the morning?"

"I know, I'm sorry. I just…" James took another shaky breath, another tear rolling down his face.

"Could I stay the night? Is that OK with both of you?"

Alex's voice became a little softer. He took the phone away from his mouth, said something untranslatable, to Laurens most likely, then replied to James.

"Yeah, do you need a ride? What's wrong?"

James gave a tiny smile. "Yeah, I could use one. I'm at the park across from Thomas and I's apartment. And… I- I'll tell you when you get here, sorry. I'll see you soon. Thank you, Alex."

James hung up the phone and waited for his ride, wiping away another tear with the back of his hand.

Alexander pulled up to the curb, spotting James sitting on a bench, in his pajamas. Something was up. He wasn't sure exactly what just yet, but he was going to get to the bottom of it. He was good at doing that. He rolled down his window, yelling, "Yo, Madison! Over here!" James jumped a little, stood up shakily and made his way over to the car.

"My God, do you wanna wake up everyone in the neighborhood?" James pulled himself into the car, closing the door softly and buckling in, not meeting Alex's intense gaze. "Not my fault you needed a ride at three in the goddamn morning," he hissed back, pulling the car away from the curb and starting down the street.

Before Madison could respond back, Alex added, "Why do you need a ride this late, anyways?"

James sighed, hands trembling slightly. "Do I have to tell you the answer?"

"If you want the ride, uh, yeah. I would like an explanation as to why I had to stop working on my project for Law to pick you up in a fucking park."

"Look, if, if you didn't want to give me a ride, you didn't have to-"

"Just tell me what happened with Jefferson."

The car was quiet for a moment. _Damn, I really hit the mark there_. Hamilton drove on, waiting, listening to his trembling breaths. Yeah, something was up.

James spoke. "Thomas went to a club tonight. I asked him to be home by 10:30. He wasn't." He took a deep breath, continuing. "He didn't answer any of my texts. I was ... terrified. He never does this. He final-, finally came home at 2:30, drunk. I've never been that angry or scared before."

He paused. Alexander was frozen. _Shit._ He glanced over at Madison. He was shaking, hands interlaced, face hidden by shadows.

"I was mad, I asked him where he was, why he showed up at two at night fucking _drunk_. He got mad with me too. We argued. God, it was the worst we've ever had. And I just… I just couldn't do it anymore, not with him yelling at me, insulting me like I was to blame for all of this. I left."

"Oh my God, I'm sorry James."

Hamilton paused for a minute, thinking, then added,

"He's gonna pay for this shit, I promise."

James said nothing else. They drove the rest of the way in silence, punctured by rapsy breaths.

John was sitting on the couch when they walked in, mindless scrolling through his phone. He looked up when he heard the door unlock, Alex and James walking through. "Hey. Glad you're back." He leapt off the couch, grabbing Alex by the arm and quickly kissing his cheek. He turned to look at James, who seemed uncomfortable being there, though he looked uncomfortable in most situations. He examined him quickly. Wow, he was a mess.

He stood stiffly, dressed only in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, some sandals slipped on haphazardly. His eyes were slightly swollen, and there were paths of tears etched into his cheeks. Jesus, what did Thomas do? He spoke quietly to him. "Hey James, you want the bed or the couch tonight?"

He was quiet. "The couch in fine, thank you both so much." John smiled at him, entwining his hand with Alex's. "Of course." Alex pulled away to retrieve a blanket for him, leaving the two men alone. James stared at the floor.

"Hey, I don't know exactly what happened, but whatever it was, I'm sorry. You're more than willing to stay with us for a while, if you don't wanna go back to your apartment."

Madison looked him in the eyes, and gave a tired little smile. "Thank you, seriously. I… I don't really deserve this, I can be such a dick sometimes and so can Thomas…" He trailed off. "Dude, don't worry about it at all, you're allowed to have people who care about your well being."

Alex came back in with a blanket. "It's not all that much, I know."

"It's perfect. Thank you."

They quickly settled down, Alex and Laurens going back to their bed, James on the couch, curled under the blanket. A voice cut through the darkness.

"Night, James."

He breathed in gently.

"Goodnight, and thank you."


End file.
